


Pool Hall Expert

by MsLadySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Other, Sherlock is a Tease, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 07:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12601632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLadySmith/pseuds/MsLadySmith
Summary: Sally Donovan learns to play pool.





	Pool Hall Expert

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the pre-read, madsydva!

It had been a long week, but now that the case was over, Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson hit the local pub for a celebratory pint, and to blow off some steam. Donovan leaned on the bar, watching as Lestrade beat Anderson at 8-ball for the third game straight. Anderson walked over to Donovan, frustrated.

"I'm done. I just cannot beat this guy. You want to play, Sally?"

Donovan sipped her pint. "I've never played pool, Philip. I prefer to watch Lestrade clean your clock," she said with a grin.

"American 8-ball is a fairly simple game, Donovan," came a low voice from the end of the bar. _How had she missed Sherlock sitting there?_

"You play pool, freak? Seems awfully pedestrian for you," Donovan eyed Sherlock suspiciously. He looked at her coolly, and she noticed the two empty whiskey glasses in front of him. _Never took him for much of a drinker._

"It should tell you something that _I_ won't play him, Sally," Lestrade winked, taking a long drink. "I can never beat him."

"You are all power, no finesse, Lestrade. I can only hope you're not that way with your dates," Sherlock grinned wickedly. Anderson choked on his beer as Lestrade glared.

Sherlock emptied the whiskey glass in his hand, setting it with the other two, and slipped off his leather jacket, hanging it on his bar stool. "I'd be happy to give you a few pointers, Donovan," he said, as he sauntered over to the table, and started racking the balls.

"I assume you understand the general rules of the game, yes?" Sherlock asked, carefully removing the rack and setting the cue ball in position. "You've been watching Lestrade play for some time."

"Yeah, I'm not that thick. I can figure it out."

"Good." With a swift stroke, the balls scattered loudly across the table. "Let's begin."

Donovan walked over, and Sherlock handed her a cue. Lestrade and Anderson settled against the bar, each with a fresh pint, watching in amusement as Sherlock reached around Donovan, helping her set up a shot.

 _Damn, he's distracting_ , Donovan shivered, as he leaned over her. He smelled of leather, and whiskey, and...

"Sally, pay attention," Sherlock spoke quietly in her ear, jarring her back to the situation at hand. "The cue should rest lightly on your left hand." He gently positioned her left hand. "Use your index finger as a guide - don't grip with it." He moved his right hand to rest over hers near the other end of the cue. _His hands were so warm and soft and gentle…_ She struggled to focus on his instructions.

"Now, you're going to sink the 4 ball in the corner pocket. Always call your shots, even if _some people_ don't." Sherlock glanced up at his audience, with a smirk. Lestrade huffed. "You don't want to scratch, though, which is pretty easy on a straight shot like this one. Aim a little low, to put a slight backspin on it. And strike gently. Finesse, not just power."

Donovan nodded. She drew her hand back and propelled the cue forward, striking the cue ball just as Sherlock said. It rolled forward, striking the 4 ball, and stopped. The 4 ball rolled straight into the corner pocket, as intended. She smiled to herself. _That wasn't so hard..._

Sherlock's hand left hers, and he rose. "Well done. Now you just have to sink the other 6 solid balls," he smiled, "before I sink the stripes."

Donovan looked at the balls on the table and frowned. There were no straight-to-the-pocket shots like the last one. "Shots involving the rails are a matter of geometry and angles," Sherlock said, reading her expression. "Figure out where the cue ball needs to strike in order to make your object ball go where you want it."

He handed her a small cube of blue chalk for her cue tip, his hand lightly brushing hers. _Distracting..._

Donovan took a deep breath. "OK, then... 2 ball, one rail, side pocket." Sherlock nodded. She lined up her shot, and struck. As she'd planned, the cue ball struck the rail, then the 2 ball... which then caught the edge of the pocket and bounced away. She scowled.

Sherlock leaned in close. "Don't rush next time. Your angle was off just slightly, that's all. Concentrate." His deep, velvety voice gave her goosebumps. _Concentrate, he says... he's making that damn difficult..._ Donovan cleared her throat and stepped toward the bar, taking a long drink of her waiting pint. Lestrade and Anderson looked at each other knowingly.

He looked at the table, gauging the available shots. "11, corner pocket," he said matter-of-factly, chalking his cue. He took his shot, and the ball obediently went into the designated pocket.

Donovan watched him move around the table. She was accustomed to seeing him in a suit, usually wearing his Belstaff, as he flitted around crime scenes. _Jeans are much more flattering. That coat hides a lot of things,_ she thought, looking him up and down appreciatively.

"12 into the 14, 14 in the side pocket." The cue ball clicked; the 14 sank.

Donovan watched her opponent carefully as he rounded the table, calculating his next shot.

The game continued, until only the 13 and the 8 ball remained. It was Donovan’s shot.

"May I?" Sherlock offered to help her line up her shot. She nodded. As he explained, he leaned over her, his chest pressed lightly against her as he guided her arms and hands into place. She felt the rumble of every word, and shuddered.

“Don’t rush. Concentrate,” he breathed into her ear, making her knees weak. He then backed away, and she regained her composure and took her shot. The 8 ball sank. She had won.

Anderson stared incredulously. “Are you sure you’ve never played before, Sally?”

“I swear, Philip,” she took a deep, calming breath. “Thanks for the lesson, Holmes.”

“You are most welcome, Donovan. Any time.”  He returned to the bar, and ordered another whiskey.

She walked over to the bar and finished her pint, looking at her watch. "Want to share a cab home, Philip?"

"Sure, Sally." He drank the last swallow of his drink, handed some cash to the bartender, and grabbed his coat. "Chat with you tomorrow, Greg?"

Lestrade waved. "Sure thing, mate."

"Goodnight, Sherlock!" Anderson called out as he and Donovan headed out the door, and Sherlock raised his glass in their direction.

\--------------

Anderson and Donovan left the pub. "Come to my place tonight, Philip?"

"I don't know, Sally... my wife is supposed to call from her mother's tonight..."

Donovan grabbed his collar and pushed him up against the brick wall of the pub, kissing him fiercely. "I wasn't really asking," she growled, letting him come up for air. A cab pulled up behind them, the driver waiting.

Anderson's eyebrows went up. "Your place... sounds... fine," he stammered. He opened the cab door for her, and they both climbed in. She gave the cabbie her address, and they drove off.

\--------------

"You know, Sherlock, that was just unfair," Lestrade grinned, as he settled his tab. "Donovan didn't stand a chance."

Sherlock returned the grin. "At least you know they'll both be in a good mood tomorrow. That always makes your day go smoother, doesn't it?"

Laughing, Lestrade handed the bartender an extra 20. "His next round is on me," he said, nodding in Sherlock's direction.


End file.
